


Backstage Rumors

by Ryuchu



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11958975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuchu/pseuds/Ryuchu
Summary: All kinds of juicy rumors fly about you when you're the rising star of the stage and all kinds of annoyance accompanies that when you're his prop-runner boyfriend. But maybe it's worth all the annoyance when you get to be the only two people in the prop room in the middle of the night.





	Backstage Rumors

**Author's Note:**

> Is this even any good? I don't know anymore, but hey. Porn.

Mishima gave a yelp of surprise as his toe caught on the bottom door frame of the prop room. Rather than worry about his own safety, his first thought was to curse repeatedly under his breath as he watched the precarious tower of foam blocks (his own fault really - he had wanted to make the trip from the car as few times as possible) he was carrying shake. Thankfully, after a few tense seconds of muttered cursing, the tower settled and Mishima felt himself sigh in relief.

A part of him couldn’t help but think that the door to the prop room existed solely to make his life just that tiniest bit more miserable. No one ever bothered to close it; in fact, he was fairly certain most people didn’t even know it _had_ a door. So since it was no longer fulfilling its original purpose, logically it now existed to torture him.

Still muttering to himself about the door frame from hell, he expertly wove his way through the prop room, heading to the deepest bowels to drop off what would one day soon be a stone balcony. At least one nice thing about being the prop runner again (again again again again _again_ ) was that he had grown to know this room as well as if it were his own private castle. A musty, cramped, dimly-lit castle that was littered with years of props for every conceivable genre of play or musical, but his all the same.

At least while he was here, he didn't have to listen to the constantly turning rumor mill of the theater. While he was steadfast in his love for performing, the same couldn't be said for everyone's apparently fanatical love for mudslinging. Even worse, despite Mishima's best efforts, the focus of these rumors had recently become one Akira Kurusu, the rising star of the stage and Mishima's boyfriend since high school.

Now, instead of getting to go about his day in relative prop-running peace, his days were spent listening to everyone fantasize about his boyfriend. The longer the rumors churned, the raunchier and more outlandish they became. For once, he was thankful that he had earned a reputation as an easy blusher because he wouldn't know how to defend himself if someone were to ask him why he always seemed so hot and bothered every time the subject turned to Kurusu's sex life.

Although it would be a lie to say that he hadn't taken a few of those fantasies and ran with them...

Furiously, Mishima shook his head, dislodging that thought before it could get too far gone. Just focus on getting work done...just focus on getting work done...don't think about Akira...don't think about the sound of the prop room door closing...don't think about the sound of the lock clicking...

Wait.

The door closing? The lock clicking?

Shit.

Why did someone decide to not only close the door but actually lock it? That had never happened before. Apparently, the door frame from hell was striking in new and interesting ways even several years after their battle had begun. Once again moving expertly through the darkness of the room, his pace quickened as the telltale pinpricks of fear began to ignite on his skin.

“...Hello?” he called tentatively as he finally made his way to the front of the prop room. As expected, he found the door closed, but as he stared at it he felt his frown tinge with worry.

The prop room only had one key and it was buried somewhere in his apartment. Whoever had locked the door was still in the room with him. Nerves and paranoia quickly overwrote logic as he began to look for the intruder that had so boldly barged into his castle.

“Seriously,” he continued, his voice wavering but at least providing something to fill the void, “Whoever's doing this, it isn't funny! If you wanted to scare the shit out of me, fine, you did it. Are you happy now?”

“Oh I wouldn’t say I’m happy.”

The voice was low, quiet, and coming from behind him.

Mishima felt his heart thud loudly in his ears as he spun on his heel, his hands flying to a protective position. He found his would-be attacker standing in the path he had just taken to the door (how had he managed to sneak behind him?), his posture casual and assured. Mishima’s hands dropped to his side, but his eyes traced over the figure, taking everything in. A long black coat, a white mask, and, most striking of all, bright red leather gloves.

Standing there was Akira Kurusu, the man of rumors himself.

His expression was relaxed, as if he hadn’t just snuck up on the poor prop runner/his boyfriend and scared at least ten years off his life. The air of cool calm that he kept about himself at all times was clear as his smile slackened into what Mishima had come to call a ‘dangerous promise smirk’ over the years.

“What are you still doing in costume, Kurusu?” Mishima asked as he felt his panic escape him with his sigh of exasperation, “And more importantly, what the hell are you doing in here?”

“What, you don’t like it?” As he spoke, he played with the jacket, his motions giving hints of his bare shoulders, “I’ve seen the ways you stare at me - or maybe just at my ass - when you think I’m not looking.”

“How nice your ass looks in tight-fitting black leather is not the problem here. Answer the real question - why are you still here?”

“I missed you, so I came to find you,” The way Kurusu answered, as if it was self-evident and with a carefree shrug, incited fond exasperation in Mishima as he rolled his eyes. He was always delivering cheesy lines like that.

“We live in the same apartment. You would’ve seen me in a couple hours.”

“I didn’t feel like waiting. And you’ve been pulling late nights for the past two weeks. I’ve barely seen you.”

“You see me at the theater every day.”

“Yeah, but your strict ‘no affection in the theater’ rules are still in place. You won’t even return any of the loving glances I throw your way.”

“If I returned all the loving glances you threw me, I would be looking at you every ten seconds and I would never get any work done.”

“Don’t be like that. I just want you to know how much I love you, Yuuki.”

The use of his first name - a blatant breach of another one of Mishima’s ‘no affection in the theater’ rules - shifted the atmosphere to something decidedly more intimate. Mishima felt his breath catch as Kurusu quickly closed the short distance between them, his arms snaking around Mishima’s waist as he pulled him flush against him. The heat off Kurusu’s body was dangerously tempting as Mishima struggled to keep his own rules in mind.

“Kurusu, cut it out,” He managed after a supreme clash of wills, “what if someone sees?”

“It’s the middle of the night. We’re the only two people here. But…” Akira’s expression grew serious as his hands moved from Mishima’s hips to cradle his cheeks instead, “If you really want to stop, then I’ll stop.”

Mishima tried his best to hold his gaze steady, but he could feel his eyes flickering back and forth. He had made and enforced the no affection rules for two purposes: one, to ensure that this time, any fame he earned would be due to his own hard work and not from riding on Kurusu’s coat tails; two, to try to give the rumor mill as little ammunition to use against the two of them as possible. The first one was a struggle to follow as he kept getting passed over for roles and instead sent backstage once again, but Akira's quiet encouragements kept him afloat. The second one seemed to be pointless; if the rumor mill couldn't find anything, it would just make something up.

Honestly, at this point Mishima was wondering if it was worth it to keep honoring these rules. God knows there were so many times he wanted to break them - so many times Kurusu looked too damn good in one costume or another for him to keep his hands to himself - but either the presence of another person or his own conscious would stop him.

The hands on his face were gentle, assuring. If he said the word, Kurusu would back off. With a perceptible tremor, Mishima raised his own hands to the mask on Akira’s face. Gently he removed it before letting it drop limply from his fingers.

“Dammit Akira, how the hell do you look so good in leather?”

Without waiting for a response, Mishima smashed his lips into Akira’s, his own frustrations at how little he had seen him these past two weeks translating to an overeager opening. For his part, Akira’s response was instantaneous, his tongue pushing against Mishima’s lips. Mishima accepted the silent request, his head positively swimming as Akira’s tongue explored his mouth and an unbidden moan already slipped out.

As their kisses grew deeper and longer, the hands still resting on Mishima’s cheeks began to move in small, directionless lines. His eyes fluttered closed as he positively melted into the affection he had been desperately seeking but denying himself in favor of work. Suddenly, he felt Akira’s knee pushing up between his legs and he moaned again as he gave an exploratory roll of his hips.

Unfortunately, a moment later Akira’s lips left his and his hands fell away. His knee, however, remained where it was.

Mishima opened his eyes and saw Akira smiling at him, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glittering. It was another one of those ‘dangerous promise smirks’.

“How far do you want to go?”

“How far…?” Mishima echoed back, his glazed mind trying to catch up with Akira’s words, “How far do...oh.”

As the meaning behind those words finally clicked in Mishima’s brain, he felt himself flush. Sure he had had sex with Akira before, but never in somewhere that wasn’t a bedroom. It was a possibility that felt equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

“...You’re gonna get all new rumors started about you.” He responded back, not quite ready to answer one way or another.

“Oh, ‘new’ rumors? You mean there’s already rumors about me? Only good things I hope.”

“Yeah right,” even though the haze, Mishima couldn’t stop a wry smile from finding its way to his face, “If you’ve been with this cast more than five minutes, you know the only rumors they like to spread are those that involve sex, scandal, or both.”

Akira’s eyes didn’t even flicker with the tiniest hint of surprise. If anything, the sparkle in them just seemed to grow all the stronger. Mishima knew he subscribed to the ‘all news is good news’ mindset, but it was still amazing to him that he could take everything in such perfect stride.

“I so rarely get to be backstage,” he mewled as he smirked, “the curse of having the lead role, I’m afraid. But I’m sure you get to hear all the juicy details. Why don’t you tell me all about it. Make sure to leave no sexy or scandalous tidbit out.”

Normally, a cheesy line like that would’ve earned another eye roll from Mishima, but all he could seem to focus on was the knee still between his legs. Every few seconds he rolled his hips into it, sending more blood rushing away from his brain and to his cock instead.

“...Blowjobs.”

“Hm?”

“I’m willing to go as far as blowjobs.”

And with no further ceremony, Mishima’s hands found Akira’s face as he pulled him in for another kiss. It was even sloppier than the first, Mishima’s eagerness somehow stronger than before. He was the one guiding the kiss as Akira’s lips move in time with him, the motion only broken by the occasional guttural moan. As their lips continue to move, Mishima became aware of Akira’s gloved hands beginning to crawl under his shirt, feather light touches running up and down his torso.

Mishima wanted to concentrate on everything and nothing all at once. The contrast between their messy, wet kiss, the light touches, the solid pressure of Akira’s leg - it was sending his senses into overdrive. He would try to focus on one, but the instant he began to grasp it, his attention would be forcibly stolen by another.

However, when he heard Akira’s moan - his desperate whine - when Mishima's hands slipped from his face to his still clothed crotch, his mind seemed to suddenly come into sharp focus. He was the one to break the kiss this time, but his hands stayed where they were, earning another moan from Akira.

“So, you wanna know what they’re saying about you?” Mishima asked, his voice an excited pant.

The only response Akira seemed able to give was another moan as his eyes fluttered close. Mishima felt a surge of confidence as his fingers began to move with more solid purpose.

“They say all kinds of things,” he continued, “but their favorite one to talk about is how you’re a slut that slept your way to the top.”

“A-And…” Mishima was surprised to hear Akira speak, his voice little more than a weak whine, “what kind of things...do they, mmm, say a slut like me - ah! - does…”

Mishima had never seen Akira respond this quickly and desperately. For several seconds all he could do was stare. However, when he saw that absolutely submissive, frazzled look on Akira’s face, he realized he wanted nothing more in the world than to see more.

“They say,” a squeeze of his hand, “you have sex,” his hands moving to Akira’s hips, “in weird places,” him stepping forward and bringing Akira with him, his back eventually catching against a prop table, “like the prop room,” the clatter of props falling to the floor as Mishima pushed him onto the tabletop.

“They say that a slut like you,” Mishima’s voice was low now, his cheeks burning, but his confidence running high at the sounds Akira made as his hands once again grabbed at his bulge, “must do stuff like that all the time.”

“W-Who was it that….started kiss- ah!”

Akira’s voice cut off prematurely as Mishima squeezed particularly hard. He licked his lips as he watched the way Akira’s head snapped back and his fingers curled in delight.

“Who was the one that broke the rules in the first place?”

“I think I’m - mmmm! - gonna have to start my own rumors about you…” without Akira’s usual calm demeanor to back his sass, it seemed to lose most of its impact.

“Oh? And what would they be?”

“That you like foreplay...aaaaah...way too much and won’t get to the - nnn! - the, the actual fucking part.”

This time it was Mishima’s turn to smirk as he delighted in every subtle twitch and moan he was able to elicit from Akira. There would definitely be more than a kernel of truth to that rumor, but even he had his limits and the repeated twitching of his own cock meant it was time to stop screwing around. Wordlessly, he unzipped Akira’s pants, his fingers lingering on his clearly erect cock, earning him another moan. He lifted Akira’s hips from the table, pulling both his pants and underwear to his ankles.

“Well if the prima donna wants to get on with the fucking, who am I to deny him?”

The sounds Akira made as Mishima placed several long, slow kisses on his inner thigh had Mishima’s cock positively throbbing. Teasingly, he let his tongue run over all the soft, exposed skin, leaving only Akira’s dick untouched.

“Ah, Yuuki...you have a, aaaah, a weird definition of, hnn!, getting on with the fucking.”

“I asked who I am to deny you,” Mishima said as he pulled away and placed a light kiss on the tip, “And I know _exactly_ who I am to deny you - your boyfriend who has to listen to rumors about your sexual prowess at least eight hours a day. You always get to be the sexy, suave one in every single one of them. So I wanted to remind myself how easy I can make you moan and squirm.”

Akira was probably trying to form some smartass response to that, but it was lost to a high pitched moan as Mishima suddenly swallowed his cock. Eagerly, he began to bob his head, drool dripping from his mouth, as he ran his tongue all over his length. Above him, he watched as Akira once more threw his head back, a long moan being Mishima’s reward for his sudden action.

“F-Fuck…” He heard Akira say a few seconds later, “Warn me next time before you - nnnn!!!”

Again, Mishima stopped Akira’s words dead as he swallowed Akira’s dick all the way to the hilt, his nose burying in his pubic hair as the tip hit the back of his throat. He wanted to sit there longer, teasing him and getting to hear this new side of Akira. Instead, there were suddenly gloved hands tangling in his hair, holding him in place as Akira began to thrust.

“Y-Yuuki...god, you’re so...mmmmm...so good at this...”

If Mishima could have managed a smile around the cock in his mouth, he would’ve, but instead he just hummed lowly, knowing the vibrations would drive Akira crazy. Like clockwork, Akira moaned loudly and the hands in Mishima’s hair suddenly loosened their grip.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-!”

Quickly, Mishima removed his mouth and began to work with his hand instead. His strokes were hot, frenetic, and lacking any of his earlier calm. He wanted to be covered in Akira’s cum. As soon as possible.

“It’s okay,” He panted, his hand not slowing in the slightest as he looked up at Akira, “Go ahead and cum. Show me how true those rumors are.”

“Fuck! Yuuki! Fuck! It’s so good! I’m-!”

The sound Akira made was almost primal as he bucked his hips one final time before he orgasmed, his hot cum covering both Mishima’s face and shirt. Mishima’s mind felt hazy, his cock hard and desperate for Akira’s touch, as he watched Akira slowly come down from his high. As his breathing returned to normal, Mishima watched his eyes settled once again on him. Somehow, even in the afterglow of an orgasm, Akira managed to produce a smirk. Mishima’s cock jumped in response.

“Get up here,” Akira said, his voice soft but commanding, “I want to kiss you.”

Eagerly complying, Mishima pulled himself from his position between Akira’s legs and found his face instantly peppered with light, exploring kisses. Mishima leaned into each one, delighting in all the attention that was being showered on him for a job well done.

“You’re so cute when you’re covered in my cum,” Akira intoned between kisses.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Oh it’s very much how it works. But maybe,” As Akira spoke, Mishima felt his breath catch at the long, slender fingers running up and down, over and over, along his cock, “You need to see what I look like covered in your cum to be convinced?”

Mishima tried to form a response, to draw upon the well of confidence he had been accessing up until now. However, all he seemed able to do was focus on those fingers and how good they felt. In the end, the best he could do was desperately whine Akira’s name.

“Now don’t be like that,” Akira said, his smirk spreading impossibly wide, “I sat through all your teasing, so now it’s your turn.”

Mishima watched as those flashes of red moved all over his body, never lingering anywhere long enough for him to really enjoy it. He bucked his hips, begging Akira to be nice, to stop playing games, but the only response he got was a soft, tender kiss.

“Don’t rush things. After all, I made sure to lock the door. We have all night.”

The rumor mill could keep their Kurusu. He would never be as good as Akira.


End file.
